El Coyote, the Rebel

by Luis Pérez

  At sundown I was very close to the large Douglas ore smelters, and while I was contemplating the panoramic view of my new surroundings, I decided to spend the night in a narrow culvert under a highway.

  In my underground abode I made a very comfortable bed with dry grass and the old blanket. The only thing I found wrong with my temporary dwelling was that early the next morning it started to rain, and the running water drove me out of my tunnel bed.

  As I was crawling out of the culvert, pushing my half-soaked blanket before me, I saw a beautiful black and white animal which resembled a cat. It was running ahead of me. Suddenly it stopped, and presenting its bushy tail, it sprayed my blanket and one side of my shoulder with a most obnoxious “perfume,” causing me to cast away my blanket and my army blouse.

  My rest having been broken by the rain and the sad experience with the American polecat, I began my march toward the city. While I was crossing through the smelter yards in the outskirts of the town, I saw several groups of Mexican and American men with lunch buckets in hand, coming to work. As the small crowds of workers passed me,

  some of the most impolite ones would wrinkle their noses, and one of them said to another, “Whew! Do you smell the skunk? Ain’t it awful?”

  “Yes, it is terrible!” I heard someone answer.

  Another one asked, with a sly wink at his friend, as he eyed me, “I wonder where the hell the skunk could be?”

  “I do not know, but I reckon it is mighty close,” answered the fellow.

  A young worker, who seemed to be intoxicated, pointed at me and said to his partner, “God should not let the skunks run wild, like that, and spoil the air for us Christians.”

  “Indeed not. If I had my way I would kill every one of them,” replied his pal.

  As I was passing the different groups of laborers, I looked closely to see if I could recognize anyone. To my disappointment, I was not able to see a familiar face in the long string of workers; so I kept on walking, bearing their ridicule.

  While crossing the city railroad tracks, I saw at a distance a familiar person coming toward me. The closer we came to each other the surer I felt that I had met him before. Upon coming face to face with him, I found that he was my long lost uncle.

  As he recognized me, he asked without showing a sign of emotion, “What are you doing here, Luis?”

  “Nothing, Uncle,” I replied.

  “Where are you going?”

  “No place, Uncle.”

  “Well, you better go home. Do you see that place over there across that pile of railroad ties?” He pointed to an old shack that was about four blocks away.

  “Yes, Uncle, I see it.”

  “We live there; your aunt is there alone. Go over right away and have something to eat, but be careful and don’t frighten her. She has been sick and she is very nervous—and—” sniffing, “you better take a bath—you stink!”

  “Yes, Uncle, I shall,” I replied, as I started to walk away from him.

  As I was leaving, he said, “I will be back at five, and then we will talk things over.”

  “Very well, Uncle,” I answered, and to the shack I went.

  When I knocked, my aunt came and slightly opened a squeaky door, and when she saw me, she exclaimed, “Jesús, María y José, y los dulces nombres de todos los santos!” After she exclaimed, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, and sweet names of all the saints,” she opened the door wide.

  My aunt was so glad to see me that she threw her arms around my neck and kissed me but, as she was holding me tight in her arms, she said, “Phew! Something terrible! What is it?” Then pushing me away from her, she continued, “You better take a bath right this minute! I have never smelled anything like this in my whole life!”

  “Take a bath before breakfast?” I asked.

  “Yes, a bath before breakfast,” she parroted. Then she continued, “Here is the soap, a towel, and there is the tub,” pointing to one corner of the house. “Use plenty of soap and water because you surely smell strong,” she added.

  As I was filling the tub with hot water she came to the door and shouted, “Give me those rags that you are wearing, and here are some of your uncle’s clothes.”

  As I gave her my old clothes, she went away mumbling between her teeth, “This boy surely stinks bad!”

  A few minutes later she came back and shouted again through the closed door, “Be sure to use plenty of soap and water. Clean yourself well and come to breakfast. Don’t forget to wash the tub after you get through. Wipe off the floor and bring the wet towels with you.”

  “Yes, Aunt, I will,” I replied, and kept on taking my first bath in weeks—in fact, the first bath I had taken in months.

  After my refreshing bath I went to the kitchen and found that my aunt had the table already set with a very delicious breakfast for me. When I had consumed all the food she had prepared, I retired and slept until five o’clock, when my uncle came home.

  21

  A five o’clock I was awakened by my uncle’s cyclonic arrival. When he closed the squeaky door after him, he let it go with such force that the sound of it made me jump out of my floor bed. The slam was so terrific that I thought it was a cannon shot. When my uncle went into the kitchen, he threw his lunch pail on the table and shouted at my aunt, “Is dinner ready?”

  “Not yet, Miguel,” answered the nervous woman.

  “What have you been doing all the day? I see that the house is still dirty. It hasn’t been cleaned for a week.”

  “Well, I have had more work to do today than any other day—and besides, I am sick. You don’t care if I die, do you?” asked my aunt.

  ‘‘Where is Luis?” growled my uncle, ignoring her question.

  “Luis is in the back room sleeping. He was very tired.”

  “Did he take a bath?”

  “Of course he took a bath. Do you suppose I would have let him stay here without bathing—the way he smelled?”

  To that my uncle did not answer, but instead he asked, “What did you do with the fifty cents I gave you yesterday? I bet you have already squandered it on cosmetics?”

  “I have spent the money, but not on cosmetics. I bought food with it.”

  “Hell, I want a drink and I haven’t a penny!” exclaimed my uncle.

  At this juncture I came into the kitchen and said, “Hello, Uncle!”

  “Hello,” he replied halfheartedly.

  “How is business, Uncle?”

  “I have no business,” was his abrupt answer. Then looking at me closely, he asked, “Who the hell told you that you could wear my hunting suit?”

  “My aunt loaned it to me.”

  “Yes,” said my aunt, “I gave it to him—you look like the devil in it anyway. Besides, you don’t expect the boy to run around the house in those skunky pants, do you? Even though we are poor, we can at least have a little sense of respectability.”

  “To hell with respectability. I paid good money for that suit, and I want to keep it in wearable condition. As soon as we have supper I will go to Don Juan and ask him to lend me three dollars to buy Luis a pair of blue overalls, a shirt, and a pair of shoes. Is food ready? I am starving. I wish you would have dinner ready for me as soon as I come home. You always put up the lousiest lunches!”

  “Don’t talk so much. Wash your hands and come to eat,” commanded my aunt.

  “My hands are clean. I washed them at noon.”

  “All right, come to dinner. You make me sick the way you talk.”

  “If you don’t want me to talk the way I do, why the hell don’t you mind your own business?” stormed my uncle.

  “Luis, bring that red chair that is near the Victrola, and come to dinner,” shouted my aunt, disregarding my uncle’s muttering.

  After eating we went to visit Don Juan, and from there my uncle and I went to the business section of town, where he bought me a pair of shoes and a pair of secondhand overalls. He said that since he was not able to buy me a cheap shirt, he was going to let me wear o
ne of his. After he had made these purchases we went home, and on the way he bought a bottle of gin.

  The next morning before leaving, he said to me, “Luis, I expect you to do a little work around the house. You can go along the railroad tracks and pick wood and coal to keep us warm during the winter. Help your aunt with the house work.”

  “Yes, Uncle, I shall do that,” I said.

  So my life in my new home began in about the same manner as when we lived in Cananea. Day in and day out I went along the railroad tracks with a gunny sack on my shoulder, picking up wood and chunks of coal.

  One time while I was walking along the tracks, I saw a locomotive standing by a high tank getting water. Between the tank tower and the engine I saw several lumps of coal. I sneaked along the side of the engine and started picking them up. While I was at my task, the fireman, who was on top of the tender, lifted the long heavy pipe from the locomotive water tank, and pushed it up to where it belonged. As he swung it, a torrent of water rolled back in the pipe and landed on top of my head. This was the second bath that I had taken since I came to Douglas.

  Another time while I was looking for wood, I climbed inside an empty boxcar to see what I could find. After I had searched inside the car, I came and sat in the doorway to jump off. As I did, a nail caught in my secondhand overalls and ripped one leg open, leaving my buttocks exposed to the elements. When I came home I was properly scolded by my uncle and aunt for my carelessness.

  My life with my uncle and aunt was fairly mild and pleasant until one day, about three months after I had come from Naco, my aunt wanted to know the reason why I had run away from home when we lived in Cananea.

  “Aunt,” I said, “I ran away from home because you were cruel and mean to me.”

  That statement made her so angry that immediately she got up, seized a mattock handle, and came toward me. When I saw her coming I went out of the house and ran as fast as I could. But I heard her say, “I’ll kill you for that when you come home.”

  Since I did not want to run the risk of being killed by my aunt, I decided to cross the Douglas border line to Mexico.

  22

  Agua Prieta is the Mexican border town across from Douglas, Arizona. The day I crossed the border to Agua Prieta, I saw that there was great excitement about something. Investigating, I found that the rebel army which was entrenched in Naco, protecting the town, had lost the prolonged battle. I also learned that during that day and the day before the disbanded rebels had been coming into Agua Prieta, the only large town which harbored Contreras troops.

  At sundown that same day, I came upon a company of soldiers whose faces looked familiar to me. They were in formation; that is, they were in a very informal column. Some of the rebels stood shifting from one foot to the other. Others leaned on their guns carelessly, chatting companionably.

  Suddenly an officer appeared from the cuartel with a notebook in his hand. He came close to the company and shouted a command, “Company! Attention!”

  The soldiers stopped talking, and fell awkwardly into better formation. When they were at attention the officer continued: “Men, this is the first time we have had the opportunity to call the roll in nine months. All of you know that we were entrenched in Naco, fighting the Moralistas, and for that reason we were not able to get together. The calling of the roll today is to find out how many men have survived the battle of Naco. Those who lost their lives there shall never be forgotten! Their names will live forever! They died there fighting for a just cause—for liberty—for independence for their flag! For the protection of their loved ones! And above all—they died in the battlefield fighting for their country!” He paused for a moment, and after wiping the perspiration from his forehead, continued: “We grieve for them and feel a deep sorrow, but we have every reason to be proud of the fact that they lived and died in the best tradition of the much-criticized Mexican Rebel Army. We, who are alive, must redevote ourselves to serve our great nation, and to finish the job which was so nobly begun by those brave men!” As soon as the officer had finished his speech, he bowed his head; then the soldiers and civilians present went into spasms of shouts and cheers.

  A comely lass, who had lost her sweetheart in the battle, shouted from a high window, “Vivan los jóvenes valientes que murieron pelian-do por el amor!”

  After the aroused patriotism had been so ardently expressed, and after the señorita had cried, “Long live the brave young men who died fighting for love,” another officer came from somewhere and shouted, “Company! Attention! Answer to your names if present: Alarcón, Ramon.”

  “Present,” shouted a maimed soldier.

  “Alarcón, José.”

  No one answered.

  Again the officer called, “Alarcón, José!”

  Someone in the line shouted, presenting his rifle, “Sir, José Alarcón was killed. I saw the sonbitches get him—I was by his side.”

  The officer put a line across the dead man’s name and continued calling the roll. Soon he came to the P’s calling, “Pacheco, Lu— Lucas.”

  “Present,” answered Pacheco.

  “Perea, Manuel R.”

  “Present,” mumbled Manuel R. Perea.

  “Perea, Alfonso.”

  “Here!” shouted a bugler.

  “Peresa, Antonia.”

  “On guard duty,” shouted a sergeant.

  “Pérez, Luis.”

  No one answered.

  “Pérez, Luis!” again he shouted.

  At the second call I gained a little courage and weakly squeaked from behind the crowd, “Present!” As I answered I came closer toward the formed company.

  One of the soldiers in the rear rank turned to me and loudly whispered, “Coyote! You did not get killed, did you?”

  “No, Pedro, I did not get killed. I got out of Naco just in time.”

  At this statement a sergeant bawled me out, saying, “Coyote, what the hell are you doing out of line. Do you think that you own the army? Get in here!”

  “Sergeant, I am not in line because I haven’t a rifle. I lost everything in trying to get away from the Moralista cabrones, and—”

  “Shut up!” he interrupted. “We shall give you another Mauser after roll call.”

  Pedro, the soldier who saw me first, made room for me and whispered, “Get in, Coyote, the sergeant ate bull meat for dinner—he is tough!”

  I fell in line, and after the company had been dismissed, I was equipped with an army blanket, a complete uniform, a large ration of staples, and a bigger Mauser than the one I had before. So—again, Luis Pérez, alias El Coyote, was an enlisted rebel under Contreras, after having twice been a deserter.

  23

  The activities of the army in Agua Prieta for the first few weeks were dull and monotonous, except on wash day, and at night when stories were told around the campfires.

  Once a week, when not on duty, we were ordered to center our daily tasks about a flowing river. Here, men and women bathed together, discarding their clothing as they reached the depths of the running water. Slender, rounded women, bare to the waist, and sturdy soldiers, unclad from head to foot except for a loincloth, beat their wearing apparel upon rocks until cleaned. Then the laundered garments were spread on the sand or on shrubs to dry. Often while the army was performing the weekly wash, herds of cattle were seen on either side crossing the river, causing the water to turn muddy. Other times burros stood patiently while their masters clambered down the steep banks to fill the water jars. And so wash day in the Mexican rebel army was a pleasant one for me because it was full of fun and excitement.

  One night while we were seated by the fire in our open field camp, there came a blond Mexican complaining about not being able to please the general. Since blond Mexicans are so rare, this man was known to us as Piojo Blanco, meaning white louse. His real name was Policarpio Rosa Mercado Pinchón. When Policarpio sat by the fire he said, “What the hell is the use! No one can ever please our General.”

  “What is the matter
now, Piojo Blanco?” asked one of the soldiers.

  “Well,” replied Policarpio, lighting a cigarette, “I worked hard making a table for the general’s office, and he doesn’t like it. He says that it is too wide and too long, and that he doesn’t like to stretch so much to get his stuff, and that he even has to get up sometimes to reach his papers.”

  “Piojo Blanco, why don’t you do what I did once?” asked Tecolote, the man who always liked to tell stories.

  “What did you do, Tecolote mentiroso?”

  “Once, when I was living on the farm with my wife, I built a brick oven with the door facing the north. When one of my best friends came to see us, he said, ‘Tecolote, my friend, your oven is very beautiful, but you should have put the door to the south as the north wind is always harder.’ When my friend went away I tore down the damned oven and rebuilt it, with the door to the south to please him. About a week later my brother came from Mexico City, and upon seeing the oven he said, ‘Tecolote, my good brother, you are the most stupid ass I have ever seen. The door of that oven should have been toward the east.’ So, while my brother was still visiting us, I tore the blamed oven down and rebuilt it, with the door facing the east. After my brother had gone away, my godfather came to bring me a piece of beef, and when he saw my oven he said, ‘My godson, if your oven had the door to the west, you would be more successful in toasting your meat and baking bread.’ When my godfather left, I tore down the confounded oven and rebuilt it, with the door to the west. By this time I thought I had pleased some of my friends. But about a month later, my papá came to pay us a visit, and when I took him to the patio to see my oven he said, ‘Tecolote, my son, you are the biggest scatterbrain I have had the opportunity to talk to. You should know by experience that the best way to build an oven is to have the door facing the north. That is the first principle of logic,’ said my papá.”